


Sensory Overload

by Dovahlock221



Series: Panic [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Caring John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovahlock221/pseuds/Dovahlock221
Summary: The feeling comes out of nowhere. Actually, no, that's not right. It has been building in the depths of his mind. In the pit of his stomach. Just waiting to be let out. Waiting to crawl into his lungs and take over.





	

The feeling comes out of nowhere. Actually, no, that's not right. It has been building in the depths of his mind. In the pit of his stomach. Just waiting to be let out. Waiting to crawl into his lungs and take over.

Sherlock's tongue feels heavy and dry. The damn thing is filling the space in his mouth, which doesn't help the burning desire to get one deep breathe at all. His mind is raw. Screaming at him over and over, too much too much too much. Can one's mind suffocate? There are no empty spaces. And if there are, fog seeps through the cracks.

He tries to suck in one breath, just one, but it catches in the base of his throat and his whole body tingles at the failed attempt.

Pride is trying to take over, but each breath is harder than the next and he knows he has no choice now. Reaching out a pale arm, he grabs his phone. Numb fingertips enter in the password and pull open a new text.

_Help. SH_

If his phone wasn't programmed to sign his name, he wouldn't have bothered. Another trying breath, another fail.

_Please. SH_

Damn his pride. He needs John. His body is determined to not be able to receive oxygen and he needs John _now_.

Footsteps pounding down the stairs cause another breath to catch in his throat and this time coughing fit follows. It's painful. He throws his phone on the mattress in relieve. John is on his way. He will fix this.

The door to his bedroom bangs open and a panting John stands in the doorway.

"Took you"... _Wheeze_..."long enough."

"What's wrong?" John demands. "What's happening?"

There are many answers Sherlock would like to say, yell or even scream, but his energy is spent and there are only two words he can muster up the energy to say. "Can't. Breathe."

Apparently, those two words were all John needed because he immediately leaps into action. The mattress sinks where John sits, his side brushing Sherlock's and places a hand on his arm.

"Tell me why."

Why? Can't John see what's going on? Information is passing through Sherlock's brain at the speed of light. He wanted John to slow it down, not ask questions!

Sherlock moves to sit up, but numbing spikes shoot up his arm and he cries out. John grabs his shoulder and helps him into what Sherlock wishes was a more comfortable position, but it does nothing to alleviate the throbbing in his chest.

"Sherlock. Tell me why."

Words feel too far beyond him so long fingers reach out to remove John's hand from his arm. He places the hand against his chest and then his head. "Too…much."

The sadness that clouds John's eyes tells Sherlock that he gets it. He finally understands. His breaths are coming in gasps now and he uses his eyes to plead John to make it go away.

Hands are suddenly pushing him away from the headboard and he feels John slide in behind him, his much shorter legs on either side of Sherlock's longer ones. A strong hand is placed over his head and another softly rests on his chest.

"I need you to breathe with me, yeah?" John says, and it almost sounds like he's pleading. His voice shakes where it was once strong.

Sherlock opens his mouth and tries to do as John says, but it's too much. His chest stutters and he's left wheezing.

"Slow down, Sherlock," John says, his tone has dropped to a whisper, but his mouth is right against Sherlock's ear and he focuses all his energy on the man's voice. Anything but the pain is his chest and the wetness building around his eyes. "In through your nose, slowly and out through your mouth." He puts emphasis on the word _slowly_ and Sherlock rolls his eyes, but does as he's asked.

Another fail and Sherlock whimpers. A buzzing sound is filling his ears and he feels so tired. He closes his eyes and shuts his mouth.

The hand on his chest starts to rub vigorously, knuckles digging hard into his sternum. "Don't do that, Sherlock!" John yells over the buzzing and Sherlock's eyes burst open. "Holding your breath won't help anything. Try again."

 _In through your nose, slowly and out through your mouth_. The words repeat in Sherlock's mind and maybe it's the warming feeling of John rubbing his chest or his soothing, yet angry voice, but he manages a small breath. It feels like the most victorious moment in his life, which is stupid. Isn't it?

"Good." Sherlock can practically hear the smile in John's voice. "Again."

John begins to exaggeratedly breathe with him and Sherlock can feel his chest pressing against his back. He mimics the movement, each time it comes easier than the last.

Sherlock doesn't know how long they sit there together, but the throbbing in his chest finally begins to disintegrate.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?" Words still feel beyond him.

"Say something? Please." The hand placed on his head starts to push back sweat-soaked curls and Sherlock unconsciously leans into it.

"John." His voice sounds weak and he hates it, but the small huff of laughter that emits from John makes everything better.

"Other than my name?"

"I need something," Sherlock states, damning the weakness that still resides in his voice.

"What do you need? Anything, Sherlock."

"Anything?" Sherlock's lips quirk into a small smile as he raises an eyebrow, leaning his head slightly back to look at John. "Cigarette?"

"Uh, no. That's not going to help you with breathing," John says, with a hint of sarcasm and Sherlock huffs leaning forward into the strong hand still rubbing his chest.

"Hm, maybe something stronger than a cigarette, then?" Sherlock asks. The hand stops completely.

John places his hand under Sherlock's chin forcing him to look up at him. He stares hard at Sherlock. "Do you feel the need to use right now?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I can't shut it off, John." Long pale fingers run through dark hair until Sherlock grabs a handful and pulls.

"Ok, calm down." John sighs and places one hand on Sherlock's arm and uses the other to gently pull his hand away from his hair. "Are you asking me for help?"

Stupid question. But Sherlock doesn't say that out loud. He knows what John is trying to do; verify that Sherlock is surrendering himself to John's care. "Yes."

Sherlock can practically feel the content from his answer radiating from John and he sighs in defeat. "Good. Then here's what we're going to do…" John starts.

"Please, John, enlighten me with your plan," Sherlock states, trying hard to put a malicious tone on his words, but even he can tell it has failed as John emits yet another huff of laughter behind him.

"I'm going to make tea and we are going to watch crap telly until the morning. Then we will go to breakfast."

Sherlock wants to ask how that will help, but the pain in his head and chest is already fading. John did that. What's the harm in listening to him, for once? So he says, "Ok."

"Really?"

"Yes, but don't you have work in the morning?" The thought of John leaving causes a pang in his chest that he pointedly ignores.

"Taking the day off," John says.

"Oh. Sentiment?"

"Damn right, it is."

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought!


End file.
